Touch
by A for Anarchy
Summary: Twentieth in my one-word prompt series! AU Tywin/Sansa. Alone in his office, frustrated with his work, Tywin makes a call. The results are...unexpected. Rated M for language and mature content.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own _A Song of Ice and Fire_, it belongs to GRRM.

**Author's Note**: This is number twenty in my one-word prompt series. Another AU Tywin/Sansa pairing. I was forced to write this one in order to get back to part 3 of "Cry." The demon has now been exorcised, leaving me free to finish the other fic! (And there was much rejoicing). No serious warnings on this one, readers…aside from a light dose of prostitution? Eh, whatever, you guys will be fine.

* * *

It was nearing 2200, and the mess still hadn't been resolved.

Tywin was growing more murderous by the minute, and yet, he was incapable of breaking away from the work. He was sure that the employees of Casterly Rock Inc. were not wholly incompetent, but days like this made him wonder if the hiring process should be made more rigorous.

A knot of tension was beginning to form in his back, and he could feel a migraine gathering, like storm clouds on the horizon. He needed a release, something to take the edge off before he continued, but his hand would not be enough, he needed _more_. Mind made up, he called to arrange it.

"Someone will be there within the half hour, sir. Thank you for your patronage, and please, remember to give feedback."

Thirty minutes was almost too long.

Tywin paced the length of his office then moved into the corridor, checking to make sure that he was alone on the floor. His steps led him to the lifts where he continued his pacing, ticking off the minutes. The sound of the lift dinging stopped him in his tracks; he turned to face the opening doors.

_Good gods!_

"Oh hi, Mr. Lannister. Um, this is awkward, but I was told to deliver some files or something and there was only supposed to be one person on this floor…_oh_."

Stupefied, Tywin Lannister stared at Sansa Stark.

"Well, Mr. Lannister, I guess that means you're my client. Is there somewhere else we could take this?"

He stepped back and motioned for her to follow. Retracing his earlier steps back to his office, Tywin's mind was overcome with this revelation: Ned Stark's daughter was a whore! And not just any whore, she was the one he had hired for his use that night. Gods, it was almost surreal, but he was forced to admit that the thought of taking Sansa Stark over his desk was an arousing one.

They reached his office door and he opened it, gesturing to her that she enter. The silence of his office remained unbroken by their entry, she studied her new surroundings, and he studied her.

She'd grown since the last time he saw her; of course she had, it had been at least four years since their first, and only, meeting. Back then, she had been coltish, just starting to ripen into womanhood, but now, she was all graceful lines and elegance. How did that happen in such a short amount of time? There were days that Cersei appeared to regress back to her childhood entirely, but this Stark girl, no, this Stark _woman_, had come into her own with a vengeance.

Sansa Stark stood in his office as if it were a space that she had been occupying for years, utterly at ease in his domain. Tywin felt a surge of arousal at the thought; his body's heat was swiftly becoming intolerable in his suit. He made to loosen his tie, the movement snapped her out of her contemplative state, and she reached for him, uttering a low cry, "Don't!"

Confused, and slightly angered at her order, he stopped, his hand lingering at his throat. "And why, Miss Stark, should I not?" he practically growled the words out.

She was sheepish, apologetic, "Sorry, it's just…I want to do that."

To his amazement, her cheeks colored with her admission. Tywin went to her then, stepping in close, crowding her and forcing her head up to meet his gaze. "Miss Stark, you are full of surprises. You blush like a maiden, but your manner reveals an enjoyment in your work. Unusual, for a whore."

She didn't flinch away at the sound of the epithet, preferring to hold his gaze and return fire, "I believe the more correct term for what I do is 'escort,' but I've always believed in calling a spade a spade. I'm a whore by choice, not circumstance, and your time with me is running out. At this rate, your hour will be up before you've gotten your cock anywhere near my cunt."

Her tone was challenging, lighting a fire in his blood and loins. He would fuck her so hard that she would leave his presence walking with a limp. "To the desk with you, Miss Stark. I think you need a bit of punishment for that smart mouth of yours. Your father is too soft if he lets you get away with such disrespect."

Sansa wrenched her jaw from his hand and sauntered over to his desk. She surveyed the papers there and, after a quick glance under her lashes to ensure that he was looking, swept them off the desk, watching as they floated to the floor. Her glare was defiant, but her voice was syrupy sweet, "Oh don't worry, Mr. Lannister, I'm _never_ disrespectful to my father."

Tywin was behind her in a flash, kicking the chair away from the desk while one hand went to her back, forcing her to bend, and the other was rucking up her skirt. Once her skirt was up around her waist, he wrapped his hand in her knickers and ripped them away.

Sansa hadn't made a sound the whole time, aside from a small grunt she issued when her chest impacted with the desk, but she turned her head to watch him, her eyes daring him to go on.

He was too aroused to draw out her punishment, so he gave her a series of hard smacks, ranging over her buttocks, not sparing a single inch. When he finished, more than one set of her cheeks was stained with red, and he was a little short of breath.

The look of defiance in her eyes had died down, and desire had risen in its stead. He could see her lips parted, wet from her tongue and swollen from her teeth. Later, he would want those lips wrapped around his cock, but now, he was aching to be buried in her cunt.

"Protection?" he ground out.

"My bag!"

She flung her arm out towards its general direction, and he hurried to retrieve it, digging around until his fingers grasped a foil packet. As he walked back to her, he unbuckled his trousers, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper. By the time that he resumed his place behind her, he'd pushed his trousers and pants partially down his hips.

Quickly, he tore open the packet and rolled the condom onto his cock. He gave it a few sharp tugs with one hand and used the fingers on the other to test her readiness. Sansa was slick and warm, and her hips twitched as he thrust two fingers into her sopping hole. The action had her moaning for more, "Gods, skip the foreplay and fuck me already! You don't know how long I've wanted this, Mr. Lannis-ah!"

He'd withdrawn his fingers, rapidly replacing them with his cock. Tywin thrust in to the hilt, not caring if it pained her. He was consumed by the need to possess what she so willingly offered. "How long, Miss Stark?" he growled out between thrusts. "How long have you wanted this?"

When she didn't reply, he stopped thrusting, ignoring her entreaties to continue. "Until you answer my question, Miss Stark, you'll get nothing." To illustrate his point, he began to withdraw his cock from her, moving slowly so that she would feel every bit of it leaving her.

"No! No, please! Don't! Stay, please, I'll tell you anything!" She was almost sobbing with need and desperation.

Tywin thrust his cock back in, hard, making her scrabble at his desk, seeking purchase but finding none. "My answer, Miss Stark," he reminded her.

"S-since we first met four years ago," she gasped out.

He rewarded her honesty with a slow grind of his hips into hers, she squeaked rather charmingly as he did. "Hmm, really? You were all of what, sixteen? And, you wanted me. Why? I barely spoke with you, didn't touch you beyond one handshake, and yet, you wanted, you _desired_."

Another slow grind punctuated by a sharp thrust earned him an encouraging moan as she wriggled her hips, silently begging for more. He smacked her buttocks lightly, enjoying how she tried to get farther away from him whilst simultaneously straining to get closer. "Tell me, Miss Stark."

"Gods, I don't know!"

"Think, Miss Stark. You've been wanting me for years, there must be a reason."

Tywin started to pull out again, but stopped when she shouted, "It was the way you said my name! And the way your fingertips lingered, and, gods, your eyes! I'd never felt so naked, and all you did was look at me! Then, you walked away, and I never saw you again, but I would—" Sansa cut herself off, biting her lip and looking away from him.

"By all means, Miss Stark, finish your thought," he purred silkily, his mind conjuring up all sorts of lurid ideas as to how she might end her sentence.

"I—I would f-finger myself, thinking about how my name rolled off your tongue, like it was made for you to say. I would imagine that it was your fingers, not mine, on my nipples, my clit. The first time I had sex, and every time after, it was _you_ that I saw fucking me."

Gods, he remembered what she'd looked like at sixteen, innocently alluring, and she'd fucked herself with her pretty fingers, legs spread wide and mouth open, and she had thought of _him_ while she did it. The thought had his balls tightening, and he knew that this would be ending prematurely. But, Tywin would make it up to her later in his apartment, in his bed; he would make her come apart beneath him.

His hips jerked forward, burying his cock deep within her. Keeping one hand on her hip, he twined the other in her hair, turning her head and pulling it back slightly so that she could see his face while he spoke, "You are no whore, _Sansa_, you're _mine_. Do you understand?" She tried to nod her head, but his grip stalled her. "Tell me you understand!"

"Yes! Ah—I'm yours!"

He pressed his lips to her ear, nipping at the lobe, snarling his triumph at her, "Good!" Tywin latched onto her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that would be visible for days. He pumped his hips only a few more times before his release overtook him, and he slumped over her, gasping for his breath.

When he regained the strength to pull away, she made a moue of protest, "Never fear, Miss Stark, you'll get yours later, I promise you that."

Sansa nodded and stood up from the desk, stretching as she did. "About my job—"

"You'll give notice tonight. If they complain, let them know who will compensate their loss."

She rolled her eyes, presumably at his arrogant tone, "And what if I need the money? I'm not letting you 'compensate' me for _that_."

"That is a concern for tomorrow," he said dismissively. "Tonight, we will go to my home, and you will demonstrate what you did when you thought about me fucking you. After that, I will find out what your cunt tastes like."

Her cheeks were red again, and she managed to stammer out her assent, "S-sounds good. Are we going now?"

Tywin shook his head and let a smirk curl his lips slightly, "No, Miss Stark. Seeing as we have all the time in the world, you will pick up those papers and organize them while I get cleaned up."

Sansa smiled ruefully at his directive, but began to pick up the papers. Tywin went to tidy up his appearance in the toilet attached to his office, his mind a whir at the possibility of making Sansa Stark his new personal assistant. Genna had been telling him to get one for quite some time, after all.


End file.
